Politics are very much like war. We may even have to use poison

Winston Churchill, the lion of Britain whose words often carried both thunder and wit, once declared: “Politics are very much like war. We may even have to use poison gas at times.” These words, at first shocking, reveal not cruelty but candor. Churchill, who had lived through both Parliament and battlefield, knew that politics, like war, is a realm of strategy, ruthlessness, and survival. His mention of poison gas is not literal, but metaphorical—a reminder that in struggles for power, one may be forced to use sharp and painful measures, tactics that sting and choke, to secure victory.

The origin of this saying lies in Churchill’s own career, where he faced not only the enemies of Britain abroad but also fierce rivals at home. Politics in his age were no gentle debate, but a ceaseless contest for influence, where words could be as lethal as bullets and alliances as shifting as battle lines. Churchill, schooled in both military service and parliamentary duels, saw the similarity clearly. To him, politics was not a drawing-room conversation but a battlefield of wits, courage, and sometimes ruthless strikes.

The meaning of his words runs deeper than jest. He reminds us that politics, like war, is not always noble or clean. It is filled with maneuver, deception, and the occasional use of weapons distasteful yet effective. The “poison gas” of politics may be a harsh truth spoken, a strategy that wounds pride, or a policy that forces change by bitter means. Churchill understood that while such measures are dangerous, there are moments when they are the only way to break stalemate and move forward. Just as in war, one cannot always fight with honor alone; in politics, one cannot always persuade with kindness alone.

History offers many illustrations. Consider Churchill himself during the Second World War, when he employed words like weapons to rally his people and undermine his enemies. His speeches—“We shall fight on the beaches,” “Their finest hour”—were not gentle reassurances but verbal bombardments, designed to stiffen resolve and cut through fear. To some, his rhetoric was harsh, uncompromising, even scathing—a kind of “poison gas” that cleared the air of hesitation and left no room for weakness. Yet without such force, Britain might not have endured its darkest hour.

Or look to the political arena of Lincoln’s time, when the United States was torn apart by civil war. Lincoln, though a man of compassion, often wielded the sharpest weapons of politics—suspending habeas corpus, bending the Constitution, issuing the Emancipation Proclamation as a war measure rather than pure law. These acts were bitter, controversial, and stung his opponents like poison gas. But they preserved the Union and began the destruction of slavery. Here we see the hard truth: sometimes leadership requires blows that scorch as well as soothe.

And yet, Churchill’s words also carry a warning. Poison gas in war is a weapon of desperation, and in politics, harsh tactics can corrode trust if used recklessly. They must never become the ordinary tool, lest politics itself turn toxic. True statesmanship lies in knowing when to strike hard and when to heal, when to scorch the earth and when to sow seeds of peace. The greatest leaders are those who wield fierce weapons sparingly, reserving them for moments of absolute necessity.

The lesson for us is clear: do not be naïve about politics, nor imagine it always a realm of fairness and civility. It is a contest where strength, resilience, and sometimes harsh measures are required. But at the same time, do not delight in cruelty, nor wield your sharpest weapons too often. For once the air is filled with poison, none can breathe freely. Reserve your fiercest words, your hardest decisions, for the moments when they are truly needed—when survival, justice, or the greater good demands them.

Practical wisdom calls for balance: engage in struggles with courage, speak truth even when it stings, and accept that leadership may sometimes require painful choices. But temper strength with mercy, and never forget that the aim of both politics and war is not endless conflict, but peace. For in the end, the true victory lies not in the destruction of opponents, but in the building of a future where even the weapons of “poison gas” are no longer needed.